


it goes to show you never can tell

by eat_crow



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, and their alter egos are arch rivals that hate each other, and they don't know it but they're about to find out, arthur is a superhero and merlin is a vigilante, but plot twist they're MARRIED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eat_crow/pseuds/eat_crow
Summary: Emrys and the King have been sworn rivals for as long as they can remember. The King wants to maintain peace, and loathes that Emrys refuses to stay inside the law. Emrys wants to help his community by whatever means possible, even if that means burning down every law and building that stands in his way. They've never seen eye to eye, and never will.What a shame that behind the masks they're Merlin and Arthur, who live under the same roof, and sleep in the same bed, and have no idea the person they've thrown off buildings and the person they promised to never harm in their wedding vows are one and the same.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 81
Kudos: 451





	it goes to show you never can tell

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably one of my favorite tropes when it comes to the concept of superheroes, tbh. like, they're enemies and they hate each other but they're actually close friends/in love when they're in plainclothes??? i'm alive!
> 
> edit: what's a fic from user eat_crow if they don't edit 10 hours after posting
> 
> title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9l0YBKcGnY), it doesn't really fit but the energy of the song and post chorus just struck me.

Every so often Merlin wakes before their alarm is set. He keeps his eyes stubbornly shut and lays still enough to become a statue. It works some mornings, though on this one it doesn't. Sleep won't take him, so he draws in a deep breath and lets the waking world greet him instead. The arms around him won’t allow him to move. He pulls his phone to him by its charger cord.

He checks the time, smiles, and turns off the alarm.

Merlin spends his twenty minutes wisely: checking up on emails, texts, and scrolling idly through an instagram feed he couldn’t care less about. There’s only so much to do at seven in the morning. 

Seven twenty-nine comes and goes, and at seven thirty Merlin squirms and rolls over until he faces his husband. His blonde hair is ruffled and his cheek is mushed against the pillow. Deep and peaceful snores reverberate in his chest.

Warmth thicker than honey fills up his lungs until it overflows into his brain and his stomach and his fingertips. He reaches out to stroke Arthur’s cheekbone and lightly scratch his fingernails against his scalp as he fixes his bed head. It never gets old. No matter how late he falls into bed Arthur will take him into his arms, and no matter how early he rises Arthur will ask for just one more minute, one more second, to hold and kiss and lay side by side.

“It’s morning,” Merlin whispers, and kisses Arthur’s nose. “Rise and shine, stupid.” Arthur’s eyebrows twitch, and Merlin kisses his chin. “It’s time for you to be awake.”

He says something completely unintelligible, and Merlin wonders if a smile can pull the muscles in your face. Certainly if it could he would’ve done so by now.

“Do you want coffee?” He knows the answer will be yes before Arthur hums and nods. He knows Arthur wants cream and vanilla but no sugar without having to ask. He knows Arthur like the ancient seafarers knew the night sky.

“Kiz mm,” Arthur mumbles, and worms closer to Merlin like there was any space between them to begin with. Merlin holds Arthur’s face in his hands as if he holds a piece of pottery before it’s been hardened by a kiln, fragile and beautiful. He watches his love and feels so deeply that here, this moment, is where he’s meant to be that his eyes sting.

He squishes Arthur’s cheeks until he has fish lips, and blows a raspberry onto them.

Arthur pulls his head away with a put upon little whine.

“Devil,” he says, and Merlin laughs with delight at his own mischief. Arthur grumbles and rolls over until he lays atop his husband, his weight a welcome comfort. He looks down at Merlin with sleepy, bleary eyes. His smile is tired and genuine.

“Get off me, you’re too heavy.” Merlin pinches Arthur’s side, and Arthur pinches Merlin’s nose shut. “Stop it,” he says, voice taught and nasally, and they both laugh.

“I want a real kiss,” Arthur says as he lets go of Merlin’s nose. He props himself up on his elbows at either side of Merlin’s head and raises his eyebrows. Merlin takes Arthur’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and guides him down to meet him, chaste and smooth the way kisses can become with years and years of practice. Arthur smiles and his teeth touch Merlin’s lips.

“You’re going to be late for work,” he says, when their kisses deepen to swollen lips and bitten tongues. He sighs through his nose when Arthur takes his lower lip between his teeth and sucks gently.

“They’ll survive,” he says. Merlin cups his jaw. Arthur hangs his head, and their foreheads touch together. Merlin cranes his neck to place one last soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“Come on,” he says, “I’ll make you that coffee.” He wiggles out from underneath Arthur and tumbles off the bed and onto the floor. Arthur watches him with his head propped up on his hand. When their eyes meet and Merlin catches sight of the gentle fondness held within, Arthur flips him off.

They meander to the kitchen in silence. Arthur makes toast while Merlin scoops coffee grounds into the filter. Merlin tries to turn on the gas burner, but it struggles to light no matter how much he wiggles it. He casts a look to Arthur’s back to ensure his attention is elsewhere and stares down the burner. Electricity buzzes behind his eyes, and the burner comes to life with a poof. He fills their kettle with water and sets it on the burner. They watch the water boil, Arthur from behind Merlin with his chin tucked over his shoulder. He pats an off rhythm drum beat onto Merlin’s stomach and Merlin hums something jazzy to accompany it.

They drink their coffee on the couch with their legs tangled together and watch the news. The anchor reports on crime levels and murder cases and the ongoing feud between the local vigilante Emrys and the superhero the King. They show footage from just last week of Emrys kicking the King across the street and into a four door sedan so hard the doors dent. Arthur rubs his chest in sympathy.

He doesn't complain when Merlin changes the channel.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Arthur says as he puts on his tie. Merlin, prepared for a day off and still in his pyjamas, smiles from the couch.

“Okay,” he says. “Where to and when?”

“Thompson’s at 6?”

Merlin tries not to flinch. Arthur would notice if he did. He would know, because he always does. He can predict the uneasy roll of his shoulders and his fretful fingers without even looking at him.

“My schedule’s a little full, but I think I can squeeze it in.” His smile is still wide on his face. Arthur leans over the back of the couch and kisses his forehead.

“See you then,” he says, “don’t burn the house down.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When the front door closes and the lock clicks, Merlin slumps and covers his face with his hands.

His plans will just have to move forward.

  
  


Merlin firmly believes he has the right to keep some things to himself. If he never kept _any_ secrets he wouldn’t be his own person, and independence is important for healthy long term relationships. It’s better for both of them if they keep little secrets, if there are things left unsaid.

Nevermind that it’s for Arthur’s own safety he doesn’t know. Nevermind that if he knew, he might not ever look at Merlin the same way. Nevermind this little secret could ruin his marriage and send his life crumbling to the ground.

He wishes he were cheating. God, that would be so easy, so unforgivable. Arthur would leave him and it wouldn’t be as hard as it would be understandable.

But in this Merlin is in the right, he knows he is.

Merlin adjusts the bandana that conceals his lower face and touches nervous fingers to his goggles to ensure they stay in place. Their lenses are bright gold to cover the color of his eyes. It was easy to create a disguise when he kept Arthur in mind, when he thought of what someone would truly recognize him by. Arthur would know him by a peek of his jawline on the morning news, could see Merlin in the furrow of an uncovered brow. His jacket and pants are padded so he can’t recognize the breadth of his shoulders and slight of his hips.

Merlin takes back streets and alleyways to his destination. He's inconspicuous as can be to the back of the building, casual, devil-may-care even. The door inside is locked, but it’s never stopped him before. He takes a deep breath and gives the doorknob a hard yank at the same time he slams his shoulder against the metal door. That buzzing feeling returns in his eyes and the door is blown clean off his hinges.

A little more force than intended, but that’s okay. Maybe...

Merlin tips his head back and groans as the alarm bell starts to scream.

Time is now of the essence. 

Merlin isn't afraid of cops. Some yokels with six months of training have no chance against a superhero with a lifetime of practice. They couldn’t touch him if their lives depended on it. No. Something much worse, and something much more annoying, will be on its way very soon. On _his_ way very soon.

Merlin flits down corridors and sends every employee he passes into a peaceful sleep with nothing more than a touch of the shoulder. He stops only when he makes it to the vault.

4.6 million dollars.

He thinks of what money like that could mean. It’s one thousand for each household in the lower town, easy. That money could change someone’s life - it could buy groceries, pay rent and student loans, pay for rehab that someone has long lost hope of affording.

And every single cent is insured.

Merlin tries to open the vault by its lock, but the system is complex and it's all but impossible if he can't see the mechanisms inside. His frustration builds and builds until his patience snaps. He doesn't have the time. He backs up and focuses the buzzing into his hands. He takes a deep breath. There are points in the vault doors that attach it to the door. When he reaches out he can sense them, almost as if he can truly touch them. Merlin clenches his hands into fists and pulls them close to his body. There's an anti-climactic pop, and smoke puffs out of the door’s seam. Merlin jerks his head to the side and the vault door falls forward with a creak, completely disconnected from the surrounding wall.

He makes quick work of the cash inside the vault. Fortunately for him it's the easy part, doesn't have to carry it all. He sends giant metal boxes of money floating out the doors. They’ll be packaged up for redistribution within the next week while Merlin claims to be pulling late nights at work.

“We’ve lowered ourselves to bank robbery, have we?” Merlin tenses, and his stomach flips between assured annoyance and unsteady fear. He turns to face the voice behind him.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are, King,” he says, his voice warbly and modified. King, the King, whatever his name is, crosses his arms over his broad chest. His own face is obscured by a bright red mask that dual functions as a hood, of which is secured in place by a golden band. Silver armor protects his shoulder and right arm. No wonder they call him King.

“Put the money back, Emrys.”

“Can we get this over with? I don’t have time for you to teach me the power of friendship. I’m on a bit of a time crunch.”

“Great, just turn yourself in then.” Merlin sighs.

“You’re right. It’s high time this should all stop.” He takes a step forward, his hands raised and his head hung low. King steps forward in turn. Merlin waits for him to stand exactly where he needs him to. “But I should say, I had a pretty good run.” With that he waves his hand in one sharp movement, and one of the metal boxes slams right into King’s side and sends him flying. Merlin makes a break for it. He vaults over the very same box that hit King and bolts to the exit. He’s still getting out with one million, two if he’s lucky. He can work with that. It’ll be enough. It’ll have to be.

Merlin sprints as fast as his legs can carry him. He just wants to get away, he can see the street only paces away and it feels like freedom. It's so close, but not close enough, and before he reaches it something hits him from behind with the force of a freight train. It knocks the wind out of him, and he curls his arms around his head to protect it from the inevitable impact. His lungs spasm too much to allow him more than a grunt. Merlin tucks his upper body and rolls to land back on his feet, though the momentum forces him into a stumble and he spills onto the pavement. The exposed burning of his elbow is all he has to show for the fall.

A Jeep Grand Cherokee slides into the road on its roof. Its windshield is crushed from the impact.

“You dickhead!” He shouts.

“Don’t throw shit at me, and I won’t throw shit at you!”

“You threw a fucking _car!_ ”

“Well, words don’t seem to be working!” King pulls his broadsword from the scabbard at his hip and brandishes it at his side. With a sharp flick of his wrist it lights on fire. Merlin's hand holds his own shoulder where that blade once pierced him. He hates Excalibur almost more than he hates the man who wields her.

“I mean, it’s impressive, but do you know how to use it?” He asks. King twirls the sword in his hand and advances.

“You know damn well,” he answers. Merlin bites his lip and searches for a way out. He looks up at the buildings stretching into the sky at either side of him. Merlin reaches his hands up, feels his ties to the glass in every window, and yanks it toward himself. The windows shatter and glass sprays into the alleyway. King jumps back to deny himself a death of a thousand cuts.

Merlin takes his opening while it lasts. He pushes more strength into his feet with that familiar buzz and jumps from the first floor window sill of one building to the second floor fire escape. His shoe clips the railing and he tips forward, far too close to cracking his head open for comfort, but he regains his balance just in time. He jumps over each flight of stairs, but takes them three at a time when he tires.

King is hot on his heels.

“You,” Merlin says in a panting breath, and his hands yank the glass from each window as he passes to shower his rival with a constant spray of sharp shards, “are _obsessed_ with me!”

“Am I just supposed to let you run off with a cool mil?” King shouts back.

“It’s not for me!”

“I don’t give a fuck about your dying grandmother or whatever, Emrys, stealing is wrong!”

“I’m funneling the money back into the community,” he says, “the big wigs in this city have been stealing from the poor for _years_ and you know it, King. Just because they have the money to weasel their way around the law doesn’t make it legal. It’s time the people start fighting back!”

“Stooping to their level isn’t the way to do things! You can make a difference without stealing and hurting people.” He hasn’t realized until now that he’s slowed, and King has caught up to him. He maintains the high ground, but King stands a flight below him. Neither man moves.

“I’ve tried,” he says, and the desperation is clear in his voice. “Men in power only care about maintaining that power. They will never give it freely. We have to take it from them.”

“I can’t let you do that,” King says. Merlin sets his shoulders.

“I know.” He reaches out as if to grab him, though they’re still ten feet apart. He moves his clenched fist to the side.

King is thrown off the fire escape. Merlin turns his head away, unable to stomach what he caused, but the scrape of metal on stone draws his attention back.

In a last ditch attempt King thrust Excalibur into the side of the opposing building. His bubbling laugh from down below only proves to Merlin he had no idea it would work. It reminds him of Arthur and that cocksure way he navigates the world, that over confident optimism that makes his heart flutter when it's possessed by a man not swinging a giant sword at him.

“Do you ever die?” He yells. King flips him off. Merlin takes off again. If he can make it to the roof, he’ll be set. He can jump from building to building and find somewhere abandoned enough to hide without being seen. He checks his watch - it’s only four thirty. He might not even be late.

Merlin makes it to the warehouse district before King catches up with him again. He groans and spurs any last remaining energy into his legs. His body aches and burns, he wishes the bastard would just give up already. He can’t exactly show up to Thompson’s as Emrys, and he certainly needs to wash away the blood and dust and shards of glass.

The two jump from the roof of the textile factory onto the loading dock. Merlin dodges Excalibur’s blade and tries to keep distance between them. If it comes to hand to hand combat Merlin is done for. No one fights better than the King. It's been proven to him firsthand.

King chases him into the abandoned steel mill. Merlin’s frustration rises, they’re only running farther away from home.

Merlin ducks into a long forgotten passageway. They’re surrounded by smooth concrete, and long metal pipes run the length of the ceiling. Desperate, Merlin stops, turns on his heel, and rips them out of their holdings with a wave of his hand.

King stops in his tracks as a groaning comes from above them. Merlin looks upward with wide eyes. Hairline fractures splinter the cement ceiling. His heart stutters and then stops.

“Run,” King says. He takes off in a sprint, right past Merlin. “ _Run!”_

Merlin bolts, and the sight of running beside King rather than away from him makes him dizzy. For a moment all to be heard is their heavy breathing.

Then the bottom drops out - literally.

The ceiling of the passageway behind them completely collapses. The old building gives a terrible groan, and the floor begins to crack as well.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck--” Merlin gasps as the ground right below his feet shifts and drops several inches, and he stumbles. The earth is caving in, he’s going down with it, he’s going to be crushed--

King grabs his hand and throws him forward. Merlin can muster barely more than a grateful look, confused though it is. They skid into a turn on a corner and make it to the end of the passageway. All that stands between the two men and the rest of their lives is a metal door.

Merlin takes King by the armor and shoves him against the wall. Using the last of his strength and every drop of willpower, he waves his hand and wrenches the door off its hinges. It sails back towards them. If Merlin hadn’t moved King the door would’ve hit him full force. Instead, it’s swallowed by the avalanche of rock coming in their direction.

“Let’s go!” He says, and King’s hand is steady on his elbow as they dive for cover in the little room. The cave-in stops at the doorway. It prevents them from being crushed, and it seals them in.

They gasp for breath. Merlin collapses to his hands and knees, King falls onto his ass and lays on his back. All is silent. King laughs.

“Holy shit,” he says, his arm thrown over his eyes. His laughter borders on hysterical and Merlin can’t fault him for it. “We’re alive.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Merlin says. “We don’t know if there’s a way out of here.”

“We’re alive for now.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They take the time to catch their breath. King flicks Excalibur and she lights.

“Don’t you dare,” Merlin warns, and though he can’t see it he knows King has rolled his eyes.

“I’d rather not sit in a pitch black room, Emrys,” he says, “unless you have a plan.” Merlin grits his teeth and shakes his head. King rises to his feet and walks the length of the room. No doors, no windows, only vents not large enough to allow grown men passage. The room is a complete dead end. “Great,” he says, and kicks the dusty floor. “I don’t suppose you can magic us out of here, could you?”

“Maybe if I hadn’t been running for my life for the past hour,” he snaps, and Excalibur’s leather hilt creaks as King holds it tighter. Merlin casts a dubious look to the sword, but holds his ground. If only one of them is to walk out of this room it's going to be Merlin.

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” he says through his teeth.

“Oh really, Babe Ruth the car thrower?”

“You threw me off a seventh story landing!”

“Which I never would’ve done if you weren’t chasing me!”

“Would you shut up!” King pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath, and for the second time Merlin sees Arthur in him. His husband does the same when he grows frustrated. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.” They both fall silent, and neither of them has the will to speak up again. Merlin shifts so he sits cross legged on the floor.

“I should thank you for saving my life,” he says finally. King scoffs.

“Well, you paid it forward awfully fast,” he says, “so no thanks is required.” Merlin hums. Excalibur sinks to the floor, and Merlin watches as the King sits. “You wouldn't happen to know the time?” Merlin checks his watch and rubs his eye underneath his goggles.

“Five fifteen,” he says. King sighs.

“I’m gonna be late for my date,” he says, his tone pitiful. 

“Don’t worry,” Merlin says. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you when they dig up our bodies in a month.”

“He.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m with a man.” Merlin lets out an incredulous noise.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

“Is that a problem?” He asks. Merlin can feel the chill of his words from across the room. He lays back until his shoulders touch the cold concrete floor.

“Calm down, superboy,” he says. He stares up at the ceiling, colored orange from the flickering light of Excalibur. “If I had a problem with it, it’d be hard to break it to my husband.”

“You have a _husband?_ ” Merlin freezes, and his lips pull back in a wince. He suddenly can’t remember how many gay couples and gay _married_ couples there are in this city. Not enough for him to be so blasé with the information, he knows that for sure.

“No,” he lies. There’s a pause. Merlin doesn't look away from the ceiling. 

“Does he know?”

“I don’t see why that’s important.” There’s a shift of grit and dust when King shrugs.

“I’m just curious as to what kind of person he is.”

“He’s a good person,” Merlin says. “Actually? He’s a _great_ person. And he doesn’t know who I am. It's a good thing he doesn't, too, 'cause he doesn’t even like ‘Emrys’. He’s on _your_ side. Does that make you happy? My best friend, the man I love, despises me and he doesn’t even know it.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“Fuck off.”

“If it makes you feel better, my partner thinks ‘the King’ is an arrogant coward,” he says. Merlin snorts. 

“That does make me feel better.”

  
  


An hour passes in silence before one of them speaks again. The dust still hasn’t settled, and the vents don’t circulate enough air to cool the room. Paired with his mask, Merlin finds it nearly impossible to get a steady breath in.

“I can’t breathe with this fucking mask on,” he announces.

“Don’t be shy, take it off,” King says immediately, still across the room and leaning against the wall. Merlin rolls his eyes.

“Hilarious.” Merlin sits up with his arms wrapped around his knees. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“If you saw my face I’d have to kill you.”

“Better than suffocating to death. Or starving.”

They both sigh.

  
  


In truth, Merlin doesn’t know what he can do. They can’t dig themselves out the way they came, and who knows what’s above them. Knowing Merlin’s luck they’re below a giant ten ton broiler that would crush them both if given the chance.

He tucks his chin over his knees. For once he understands the concept of a ball and chain, because there is no weight more heavy than the one that burdens him when he misses Arthur. He wouldn't be so cored out and empty of hope, if Arthur were here. He'd kiss the top of Merlin's head, and say something smart assed, and figure out what to do like he always does. They would get out safe.

But Arthur isn’t here, and Merlin is going to die next to someone he doesn’t even know.

  
  


“How do you feel?” King asks, when the clock strikes seven forty-six. Merlin, who's been slumped against the wall with his head in his hands for a good half hour, looks up and glares. 

“Like I’m going to die alone in a hole,” he answers.

“I meant with your magic, nimrod,” he says. Merlin shrugs.

“It’s there,” he says, “I don’t know what use it would be.” King taps his foot in a steady and antsy rhythm on the floor.

“I was thinking…” He stands and begins to pace, “what if we caused another cave-in to create a tunnel out of here?” Merlin laughs and runs his hand over his head. His face falls when the King doesn't laugh back.

“You’re joking. The first cave-in almost killed us.”

“Because we had no control of it,” King says. “If you used your powers to make a tunnel that went 500 paces say…” he pauses, orients himself, and slashes a little X in the wall with Excalibur, “that way, we could make it to the surface without having to worry about a second cave in because there wouldn’t be a factory above us.”

“If it doesn’t work we’ll be crushed to death.”

“And what’s our alternative? Sit and wait?” He stares for a long moment as he weighs his options.

“Fine,” he says finally. Merlin gets to his feet with much more effort than it took King to. He adjusts his bandana and rolls his shoulders one after the other and then at the same time. King puts his hand just below Merlin's nape to make them still.

“Don’t be nervous,” King says, as if he could possibly know how Merlin feels. “You can take a break whenever you need to. We have time.” Merlin nods and stands before the wall. It’s nerve wracking, and terror digs its dirty nails into his heart, but he has to try. He’ll never see Arthur again if he doesn’t try.

Merlin braces himself and King stands behind him. He focuses hard until he feels that buzzing in his hands, so strong it fills his fingers with pins and needles. He looks at the exact mark King made in the wall and tries to pull it apart from the center like a bag of chips. It holds firm, but after a tense minute of strain the wall splits open. Merlin slumps and groans, bending over to stretch his back.

“It should be smooth sailing from here,” King says.

“Easy for you to say,” he says, and steels himself once again.

Digging through the dirt is a shaky endeavor, and takes several tries to get right. Even when Merlin perfects it, it’s dusty work, and they take breaks to cough and splutter. King makes a joke about blacklung Merlin barely hears over his own hacking, but it makes him laugh anyways. 

Eventually, the ceiling of their little tunnel gives in. They both scream and jump back, holding onto each other's arms like schoolgirls in a haunted house, but no cement or heavy machinery falls onto them.

They've reached the surface.

“Oh, sweet land!” Merlin cries as he climbs out of their little hole. He touches his forehead to the grass and decides to never take a weed for granted ever again. King's arms are spread wide and his head is tipped back as he laughs and looks at the sky.

“I never thought the stars could look so beautiful,” he says. He clasps his hands together on top of his head and turns to Merlin. “We’re alive thanks to you,” he says. Merlin waves the statement away.

“It was your plan.” King helps him to his feet. He hears King take a breath, and he lifts his hand. “Don’t turn this into a conversation about using my powers for good. I use my powers on my terms.”

“You could be someone truly great," he tries anyway, and Merlin looks King in the eye with the finality of a man who's already made up his mind.

“I already am.” King looks hesitant to drop the subject, but nods. He rests his hand on Excalibur’s hilt. Merlin scratches the back of his head. "Are you going to bother me about that money?" King sighs from deep in his chest.

"It's insured, I really can't be assed," he says, and the defeat in his voice makes Merlin erupt into laughter. He rests his hands on his hips and looks at him with something akin to fondness.

“You're not so bad," he says.

"You're not too terrible yourself." Merlin takes a glance at his watch. It's nearly midnight.

"Good luck on getting out of the dog house,” Merlin says. He doesn’t mention he’s in exactly the same boat. King groans and smacks himself in the head.

“Oh, fuck,” he says. “I completely forgot.”

“Go forth and grovel, your majesty.” He gives an exaggerated bow, and King punches him in the shoulder with a light laugh. Merlin holds his shoulder and laughs himself.

  
  


He changes his clothes in a back alley, shakes glass out of his hair, and hopes for the best. He knows he’s bleeding and dirt covered, and there’s no way to explain away going missing for six hours when he can't tell the truth. He doesn’t expect Arthur to believe anything he could possibly come up with, but he at least hopes he’ll be forgiving.

Their home is dark when he enters. He messes with a tie on his bag as he walks through their living room and into their bedroom, careful not to trip. Pale moonlight comes in through the blinds and colors the floor in white lines.

“My love?” He whispers as he creeps towards the bed. “I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad--”

The bed is empty.

“Shit.” Merlin drops his bag on the floor and goes to the kitchen. Maybe, if their relationship were a little younger, if he were a little more insecure, he'd be worried about Arthur being that horrendously angry to decide not to come home. But he's missed plenty of reservations in the past, and Arthur isn't any less guilty. Arthur's anger is now the least of his worries. Merlin assures himself he got bored and went to Leon's for beer and video games, and he wasn't hit by a car or something and stuck in the hospital or in a morgue.

He left his phone on the kitchen table, before he left. It still sits there, face up and blinking. He thumbs the home button. Arthur blew up his phone with texts, but only in the past hour.

_Arf 12:15 - Caught up at work. OMW_

_Arf 12:17 - I’ll make it up to u. Love u_

_Arf 12:20 - Please don’t b mad_

Merlin sighs and falls into one of the dining chairs. His relief washes over him like a cold bucket of water on a hot day. He can’t believe his luck. He missed their date, but so did Arthur. Adult life can be a god send sometimes.

He succumbs to his own exhaustion and still hasn’t moved up until the front door opens. He can hear Arthur throw his bag onto the living room floor, and he straightens in his seat. Comfort like a heavy blanket wraps around him, and he knows that no matter how dreadful his day has been he can at least tumble into bed with his love. Arthur sees his silhouette before he sees Merlin himself.

“I’m so sorry I missed our date, baby,” he says, “I had no idea it was going to--” he flicks on the kitchen light and stops.

Arthur wears the same suit he left in, and his face is clean, but his hair is clumped with sweat, and his fingernails still have dirt underneath.

He stares at Merlin with wide eyes.

Merlin, who didn’t even bother to wash his face, and wears the same shirt he wore as he ran through a collapsing corridor with the King. Who has blood streaked up his forearm to his elbow that threatens to harden into a dirt-covered scab. Who has the same gears clicking in his mind that he can see behind the eyes of his husband.

The King missed a date tonight.

Merlin’s heartbeat is wild in his throat. He’s so struck for words he says the first thing that comes to mind.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

**Author's Note:**

> ngl life kinda sucks rn, my job has me totally bugging and i'm always frustrated and life just kinda feels like it's turning inside out and i just really needed something silly and sweet and uplifting to take my mind off shit, man. superheroes have been a longtime comfort for me so here we are. i really hope you liked it if you got this far.
> 
> thank you for reading -- yoyo


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